Page 33 of Wayward (Wrecked #4)

Diving

Sam

I ’m reading the section of newspaper that Easton’s done with.

I’m not even sure why. But it does make me feel like things might be edging toward normal again.

Like there’s an end to this that doesn’t leave us buried in a ditch on a beach.

That’s enough, I guess. I’m not sure I’ve read a paper since I sold my half of the house to Jennifer.

That’s a million years ago. But the second that Haley sits down, diagonally from me?

I stop reading and drop my slipper under the table, running my foot up the side of her calf.

In my peripheral vision, I see her trying to figure out which of us it is.

“Do you not like the lunch, Sassy?” Dante asks. “It’s not the best, but it’s good for British food.”

“Hey!” Zane says, then pauses. “You know what? You’re right; I rescind my objection.” Zane laughs over his mound of eggs. “How hard we had to work for just a couple of these.” He holds his next forkful of eggs in front of his mouth. “Remember when we got the chickens?” He’s looking at Haley.

“I remember when you got the chickens. Because you almost drowned, but then you asked me to marry you.” She smiles at Zane.

“I did, and I meant it. You, me, and any other of these losers you want.”

“That loser line feels like a winner’s line,” Calvin says.

“I’m in that line, too, Sassy.” Dante takes her hand and puts it under the table. It doesn’t take a strong imagination to think of where he puts it.

Easton looks over from the window. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, but I love you, Firefly.”

“Love you too,” Haley says, her other hand emerging from under the table.

I lift my foot higher up her leg, and she twitches when I part her legs.

“Sam?” Zane elbows me.

“I’m busy,” I say as if I’m entranced by the paper and not the silky leg under my toes.

“What are you doing?” Zane bends his head and lifts the tablecloth. “Ah,” he says when he rights himself.

Haley’s cheeks are a lovely shade of pink, and I drop my foot now that my game has been discovered.

“You started something, Sam. Now you need to finish it.” Dante holds his napkin up and tosses it under the table. “Are you going to fetch the napkin under the table, or am I?” He leans forward into his challenge.

“I’m picking it up,” I growl. But I glance over at Haley.

“You wouldn’t want someone else to have to clean up after you.” She smiles. And the guys’ boisterous approval fills the room.

“Everything okay?” The third guard from the plane steps into the room. “I was walking by and heard a shit show loud roar.”

Zane picks up the paper. “Sheffield United defeated Man City. Looks like it was a bloody amazing match. I can’t believe it.”

“Things changed in the last year. Man City isn’t what they used to be. Okay, I’m down the hall if you need something.” He ducks out.

“We’re good, mate.” Zane drops the paper.

I crouch under the table. It’s a weird sensation, because the last time I was under a dining room table was probably the same year I was last under a bed, before the Rosewood. But this time, it’s a lot more interesting.

On all fours, I crawl across the floor. Nudging her legs wide, I press kisses up the inside of her leg.

My girl is going to have to slouch a little.

I grip her legs, pulling her closer to me.

But my assistant, Dante, pulls her chair out.

His hand slides her to the edge of the chair and into my nose.

She flinches when my tongue hits the side of her underwear.

Damn, I do like this dress, the way it opens up with the wave of my hand.

I tug her underwear to one side before I decide that it’s too much in my way.

I reach up under the dress with both hands and ease it down her backside.

She lifts her glorious ass off the chair.

It takes a bit of wrestling, but I manage to get her underwear down and off one leg. That’s good enough.

I didn’t declare my forever after with her, but she knows she’s it for me. Dropping to my knees under a table? That’s not something Samuel Miller has ever done before.

With one hand back around her ass, I hold her in place while my tongue circles her clit.

The guys are holding as normal a conversation as you can when you know the woman you love is being eaten out under the table. China teacups rattle above my head.

She’s squirming in my hands. Her legs vibrate with each flick of my tongue.

“Hey there, Holloway,” Easton says loudly.

I try not to chuckle because her legs have stopped vibrating and her knees are squeezing my head tight. But I’ve become as perverted as the lot of them. I fucking love it. I suck and lick away at her divine pussy.

“Where’s Sam?”

“Bathroom,” Zane says.

“Right, okay. Well, keep it down. Just know we’ll know if you take off your monitors.”

Haley’s monitor is currently firmly against my thigh. And the pinch of the metal, her taste, and the pressure of her knees against my head has me hard enough I want to swipe the table clean to let me feast on her like the meal she is.

Heavy steps leave the room, and Haley relaxes. But I can’t have that. I push two fingers into her in rhythm with my tongue.

“How you doing, Sassy?” Dante asks.

Haley makes a noise that almost sounds good.

She’s close. One of her hands snakes under the table.

The other fists the tablecloth. A few more seconds and she shatters.

Her knees push my head into the underside of the table, and she yanks on the tablecloth.

The clinking of glasses covers the sweet noise coming from her mouth.

Water drips through the fabric over my head. I give her a last kiss.

Dante laughs. “Haley’s not the only one who’s wet. How are you doing, Sam?”

I don’t answer. Instead, I kiss the inside of her thigh and help her back into her panties and pull them up before I crawl backward to my chair.

Easton and Zane are picking up the tumbled glasses while Calvin’s blotting at the wet tablecloth.

I hold her beautiful blue eyes and take a bite of my leftover breakfast roll. “Delicious.”

Four days. Four. Days. I’m going stir crazy.

We’re not being treated as captives anymore, more like restricted guests.

But there’s nothing to do. It’s worse than being on the Rosewood .

That was something I knew, even though we were captive.

This . . . this is like being retired without hobbies.

I come out of the bathroom, and Calvin is staring at Haley, who’s sleeping.

“Let her be,” I whisper. “Unless you’re actually going to take an afternoon nap? ”

He shakes his head and paces the length of the bedroom before he leaves.

I follow him. Out of everyone, he’s going even more stir crazy than I am.

“We should ask Holloway if he’s heard from Z,” Calvin says as we charge down the stairs together.

We go out the back door. It’s drizzling, but I don’t care.

Being inside makes it worse. I lead Calvin through the formal boxwood garden to a table covered with a wisteria trellis. It’s mostly dry.

“He’s not going to tell us anything,” I say, sitting at the table.

“We need to get out of here.” He sits next to me, and I lean forward to see his face.

“You think I shouldn’t have made the deal with Z? At least we’re not under lockdown. We can walk around.”

“I think there’s no honor among thieves, and he’s not going to let us walk out the door at the two-week mark.

There’s a reason he thinks he’s protecting us.

The evidence leads to not killing your ex-girlfriend’s brother if you’re still hung up on her.

Honorable? Maybe. Fucked up, for sure. I don’t feel a damn ounce of responsibility or respect for the ass.

I say we find a way to get out of here. The bigger the better.

Bring in the media. Let’s just blow this out of the water. ”

“True, there’s a reason that the bride and groom didn’t want it to happen at the resort.

It would have brought in tons of media and connected their wedding with us being hauled away.

” I nod because Calvin’s onto something.

“We don’t need to walk into a police station and let them sweep us under the rug.

We need to announce it to the world and let everyone know about the Zambranos and how they’ve been trying to kill us for over a year. "

“And how are we going to do that now?” Calvin taps the monitor on his ankle.

We’ve gone over them. There are no cameras, no sound.

As far as we can tell, there’s nothing monitoring us in our room.

However, outside there are cameras at the doors and walls, normal equipment for a house like this. A few around the grand staircase.

I point at the potting shed. I’m the one who made the deal with Z.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t like to keep our options open.

I’ve been searching the house for something to cut the monitors off with.

But there’s nothing. The chef keeps the knives locked away when she’s not in there.

And when she is, she has the door locked.

A butter knife won’t do much. I’ve searched through every open drawer in any room not locked down.

The library, as far as I can tell, doesn’t have any secret passageways.

The young kid deep down in me was hoping there were—but if there are, I haven’t found them.

The desk has stamps and a stapler older than my grandmother and nothing else.

If the Zambrano family uses this estate, it’s not often and never for long.

It’s well-maintained, and the gardens have a crew of regular gardeners who come through. And there are at least two house cleaners who won’t make eye contact with any of us—and Zane has really tried. When the gardeners are working is the only time Holloway locks us inside.

Calvin and I saunter over to the potting shed.

It’s a square brick building with a cupola on the top.

A mermaid weathervane spins in the light rain.

There’s a brightly painted green door on one side, and on each of the other sides is a window.

Calvin tries the door while I go around to the other side.

It’s farther away from the wall and possibly less likely to be covered by one of the wall cameras.

Peering through the bubbled window glass, there’s a neatly hung row of tools, mostly for gardening.

On the opposite side of the shed, I spy a pair of bolt cutters.

I push up on the window frame, and it opens.

There’s a stick on the inside windowsill.

“Door’s locked,” Calvin says before he notices the open window. “Awesome, you climb in. I’ll hold it open for you. I’m not going to fit in that opening. Plus, you proved you can fit into small spaces earlier in the week.” He smirks at me.

Inside the shed, I dust off my hands and step around a small hand-cutting mower, grabbing the bolt cutters. “These should do the trick.” I hand them out of the shed and climb back out the window, closing it behind me.

Calvin has the cutters tucked in the back of his waistband. We’re about to the side entrance when a car pulls into the lot. Things around here have been pretty regular. The cook comes and goes at the same time every day. The gardeners left when it started raining.

“Who do you think it is?” I ask.

Calvin and I round the corner. A tall woman with gray hair is getting something out of the back of the car.